If my lover were a comet Hung in the air, I would braid my leaping body In her hair.However, she lives in the frigid depths Of the Baikal Sea. (bai·kaal)Her presence forever, To haunt its shores Bound to these waters, By her own demise.A disconsolate maiden, Slipping into the waves. Struggling to stay above, The… Read More The Rusalka (roo·saal·kuh)
Charles Baudelaire – The Corpse Remember, my Beloved, what thing we met By the roadside on that sweet summer day; There on a grassy couch with pebbles set, A loathsome body lay. The wanton limbs stiff-stretched into the air, Steaming with exhalations vile and dank, In ruthless cynic fashion had laid bare The swollen side… Read More Charles Baudelaire – The Corpse
MANY thousands of years ago, when the poles of “the earth were its pleasant spots and when the tropics were too hot for human life, Nimba grew to her full height and was still a maid. Many had been her suitors, but from the time she had pulled down her first wild animal, she had… Read More RTM Scott – NIMBA THE CAVE GIRL
My first attempt at Blank VerseI grasped her lovely neck with my handsFeeling the now strong beat of her heart thereI force myself to gently squeeze at firstShe smirks, laughs and mocks, her eyes defiantI hesitate before releasing her My anger becomes humiliation and shameShe laughs deeply as I release her throatLooser, Scum, Cuckold, along… Read More Her Neck
The Sequel by Walter Scott Story Sobered on the instant—the padlock had clicked when Montresor passed the chain about my waist and thus fastened me to. the wall—I stood upright in the little dungeon, the blood running cold in my veins. With maniacal laughter, he withdrew from the niche, whipped a trowel from under his… Read More The Sequel by Walter Scott Story
Solitary and forbidding, the house stared specterlike through scraggly trees that seemed to shrink from its touch. The green moss of decay lay on its dank roofs, and the windows, set in deep cavities, peered blindly at the world as if through eyeless sockets. So forbidding was its aspect that boys, on approaching its cheerless… Read More The Closing Hand by Farnsworth Wright
The Yellow HouseUntil I was about five, a family of multiple children lived next door. Their house was a poor kept, two-bedroom bungalow with no basement. One of my earliest memories is of the children coming out of the house to play in the summer. They must have finished breakfast and their mother shooed them… Read More The Yellow House
Ramblings of an Old Coot 